


An Unexpected Sort of Scavenger Hunt

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-05
Updated: 2008-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Weasley was only supposed to check the Shack for valuables before demolition. He wasn't meant to find the collar hidden away in the upstairs bedroom. Well, he really wasn't meant to find the magazines or the photos, but also, yes, the collar.</p><p>4,700 words. NC-17. Charlie solo, with Remus/Sirius. Insinuations of BDSM, but nothing too hardcore. References to canon character deaths. For hp_wankfest. April 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Sort of Scavenger Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> For the hp_wankfest prompt, _Charlie Weasley in the Shrieking Shack with Padfoot's Collar._ Thanks to florahart for the beta.

Charlie kicked his foot at the door of the Shrieking Shack, wincing as it fell completely off its hinges and collapsed inside, and then stepped onto it, resigned to his fate of checking out the foul old disaster zone. Chin raised, he sniffed the air before lifting the back of one hand to his mouth and trying not to retch. It smelled exactly like some nasty Dark reptile had chewed a body apart in there and left it to rot.

He shouldn't really be surprised at that, but still: _someone _could have gone over the bloody place with a Disinfectant charm after they'd hauled old Snape away three months ago. That, or they should have just buried this entire bloody house along with him.

"So, what's it look like in there? Do you need help?"

Charlie jumped, clenching his fists and jaw equally and breathing deeply through his nostrils to steady himself. He shot an annoyed look down at the sound of Bill's voice to see his brother's jackal Patronus standing behind him in the doorway, its head tilted at just the same impatient angle that Bill's would have been in the same circumstances. They didn't use those fucking things on the compound in Romania, and good riddance; Dumbledore might have had a few decent ideas about some things, but making spectral fucking animals run around Britain delivering messages in the voice of the messenger, and with the same bloody gestures and expressions, was creepy as all fuck.

"Yeah, I'm a fucking talking jackal; get over it. Do you need help, or what?"

Charlie glared at the thing and suppressed the urge to kick it. "No," he told it, drawing out the word to emphasise how entirely comfortable he was with this stupid task. "You think the ghost of Snape is going to jump out and stab me?"

The jackal shrugged, glancing around the room. "Ghost of something might," it muttered. "That place is fucked up."

"You do realise it's not _actually_ haunted, right?" said Charlie, starting to laugh. "You did get the memo about the werewolf?"

The jackal didn't answer, and Charlie let the grin fade from his face. Dammit. Three months gone, and it still didn't make it any easier. Too many dead in that fucking war, and Remus had been a good friend to both him and Bill.

"Sorry," he muttered, taking a deep breath. "Look, jackal, why don't you fuck off for a while and let me look around. If I find anything of use in here, I'll give you a call. Otherwise, I'll be back by supper and we can go ahead with the order to knock it down." He paused, making a face as a new wave of stench washed over him. "Might as well get the paperwork ready for Shacklebolt," he added. "Can't imagine there's much left in here to salvage."

The jackal nodded. "Yeah, all right. See you later," it said over its shoulder as it began to run back down the lane, its feet not quite touching the ground, and Charlie sighed, stepping off the collapsed door and into the main room of the Shack.

It looked like the Quidditch World Cup had been played in there, with windows as goal posts, the floorboards as broomsticks and the sofa pillows as Bludgers. Everything was upturned and ripped apart, and Charlie's stomach roiled a bit when he saw gouges from the claws of an animal down some of the walls. He checked under the caved-in sofa and pulled out the single drawer in a side table, but there was nothing to be found. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for anyway; all he knew was that Shacklebolt had insisted someone make sure the place was cleared of all potential evidence or valuables before he gave the order to knock it down at last.

With a sigh, his hand still shielding his mouth and nose from the foul air, he trudged up the partly collapsed staircase and into one of the bedrooms. The state of things up there surprised him: the destruction wasn't nearly as severe, as though the animal had actually known the difference between its den in this room, which it wanted to protect, and the wild habitat it could destroy in the rest of the house. It also didn't smell as bad as it did downstairs.

He let his mind drift to Remus for a moment, someone he tried not to dwell on too often anymore. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would have been like for Remus here as a child or a teenager, shuffling over the lawn from the school, ducking through the tunnel and setting himself up here for the night, facing more demons than a boy his age should have had to face. He wondered if Remus had always been alone, or if Pomfrey or the Headmaster would have accompanied him, to make sure he was all right.

Charlie frowned. The Remus he'd known as an adult had never needed anyone, it seemed, always perfectly happy to go about his business with minimal interference from others – even his wife, from the looks of _that_ fucked up relationship – but surely a scared teenage boy couldn't have been so self-assured. He wondered if anyone had met him in the mornings, pulling him close, brushing the hair out of his eyes and promising him that everything would be okay. He wondered whether he might have been that person, in a different lifetime. Remus could have been his very own magical creature to play with.

He smiled at that thought, shaking his hair back and clearing his throat, determined to finish this bloody task as soon as possible and get out of there. He opened and closed a few drawers and cupboards around the room, finding only old matchsticks and long-dead insects. Pulling out his wand, he sighed and performed a series of spells to magically sweep the room for hidden passages or hiding spaces. It was a useful bit of magic he'd learned in Romania, working with creatures that seemed to get a laugh out of concealing everything from their eggs to their shit from Keepers looking for both.

Not having expected to find much in this old heap, he raised his eyebrows when a handful of spots around the room began to glow a dull blue. He began with the shelf high on the wall above the bed, tapping it a few times and whispering a string of key words at it until the wood opened up and a half dozen ragged magazines fell out onto the bed.

Charlie blinked at them, his mouth hanging open.

On the cover of the top magazine, a heavily muscled man posed in tight black trousers, a bulky chain connecting the clamps over his nipples and a ball gag fastened around his mouth. His hands were tied behind his back and his head was tilted back, exposing a long line of throat as he gazed at the camera through hooded eyes.

Charlie swallowed, feeling his blood begin to heat as he stared at the man. Belatedly, he realised it was a Wizarding magazine, as a second man stepped in from out of frame, fully dressed in long, dark robes and with a mask over his face. He tossed a whip softly over the bound man's shoulder and slowly slid it down his chest, and the man let out a low groan.

No, wait. There was no sound to the magazine. That was Charlie.

He frantically shuffled through the other mags that had fallen to the bed, his chest heaving as he gazed at the pictures. Wank mags – that was nothing new to him. Gay wank mags? Nope, not new either. He shifted on his feet as he stared at the photos of naked, bound men, their muscled chests glistening and their full pricks on display. His own cock began to rise in his jeans at the thought of just how much time had passed since he'd been properly fucked by a man. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and counted. Must have been six months ago at least, when Nico had been down from Bratislava. He grinned, sinking down onto the bed and wetting his lips. Yeah, that was it: that filthy old inn on the other side of the Danube, where they didn't ask questions so long as you paid in Deutschmarks and didn't make too much noise. He hadn't walked right for a week after that, the imprint of Nico's thick cock up his arse and the hours he'd spent pinned to the wall or on his hands and knees on the stained old mattress still rolling through his mind and body.

It wasn't easy to get many nights like that at the compound, so he generally made do with the local girls down at the pub with the other blokes on the Ridgeback team when they all went into town for a pint, but _God_, when he was lucky enough to have a man come to town who wanted to whisk him off – usually under the pretence of "gathering supplies" or "special training" and fuck him blind, he had to try to stock up, so to speak, to last him through the next dry spell.

He glanced down at the magazines again and made himself a bit more comfortable on the bed, one palm gently pushing into his groin as his prick responded all too well to the memories of Nico's strong thighs squeezing around his hips and pinning him down.

No, the mags didn't surprise him, and the men didn't surprise him. The nipple clamps and ball gags, though, they were new – along with the masks, the whips and the wrist bonds. He stared, flipping through the pages as his mouth dried out, and then he glanced up again at the shattered old house. God, _Remus_. Was _this_ how he'd relaxed before his transformations? The very thought made Charlie drop his head forward and moan, closing his eyes and picturing Remus, maybe just a few years younger than himself, escaping to this hut during the First War, scared and shivering, to strip off his clothes, lie naked on this bed, and wait for the full moon with these pictures scattered around him and his dick in his hand, warm and aching.

He lifted his hand off his crotch and sighed, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head, trying to disengage the images from his mind. He swept the magazines up and levitated them back into the slot of wood in which they'd been hidden, sealing it off again. Whatever Remus had been up to in there, it just wasn't Charlie's business. Respect for the dead, and all that. Something told him it wouldn't be right to wank to a dead man's porn, and especially not in a place like this rotting old hut, where the dead man in question had suffered some of the most miserable experiences of his life.

Glancing around the room again, he remembered that there were still a few glowing hiding places that his spell had revealed. He rose from the bed, willed his dick to behave and _not_ think about either Nico or Remus with nipple clamps and wrist bonds – Jesus, that was not easy to push down – and wandered over to a far corner of the bedroom, where one of the floorboards was glowing. He got down on one knee and wrenched it up, sticking his hand into the dark hole underneath and feeling around. He glanced back at his wand on the bed and sighed. Yeah, a wand. That might have been a better idea, but nothing had nipped his fingers off yet, so he continued to grope under the floorboard.

When his fingers finally slid across something smooth and glossy, he pulled out a handful of photographs and sat back on his heels, staring.

First the mags, and now this? No, no, no. Life was _not_ this good to him. He slowly rose to his feet and shuffled through the stack, his prick already stiffening even more than it had before, a dull ache creeping up his thighs. After a few seconds of quick browsing, unidentified body parts and skin flashing before his eyes, he slid a photo to the back of the pile and blinked at the new one facing him, his chest rising and falling and his imagination whirring to life.

He was looking at a slim young man, naked from the waist up and kneeling on a ragged wood floor, torn jeans low on his frame. His eyes were closed and his head slightly inclined, with his hands clasped behind his back. His chest was smooth, lightly dusted with black hair that matched the curtain of hair that hung around his face in graceful waves. But Charlie wasn't really looking at any of that; his eyes were fixed on the man's throat, where a thick, black dog collar was fastened, three brass buckles glinting. Charlie swallowed, slumping against the wall as the photograph trembled in his hand.

There was no mistaking it: the young man was Sirius Black.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, his cock too thick for his jeans and his mind unable to contain the images splashing through it. Bill owed him fifty fucking Galleons for this one, oh yes he did, because Charlie had always told him that Remus and Sirius were fucking, ever since that mad bastard had got out of Azkaban. Bill was either too stupid or too straight – or both – to see it, but for someone like Charlie, who was more than used to that secret language used by men who wanted to fuck and make sure no one else knew about it, that language of sideways glances and too-long handshakes and disguised discussions about whether or not they wanted milk in their fucking tea, it was blindingly obvious. Bill had almost convinced him he was imagining things – _almost_ – but this fucking proved it.

"Oh, Jesus fuck," he breathed, moving through the stack of photos again and squinting at the body parts, now that he knew what he was looking for. There it was again, that dog collar fastened around a throat as nails raked down the chest. There – a tongue lapping at the ridges of vertebra along a spine as someone curved over it, the collar barely visible under black hair at the top of the photo. _There_ – the glimpse of a thigh nearly out of frame, laced with scar tissue and wet with seeping strands of come. That was a fucking werewolf thigh. They hadn't only been fucking at Grimmauld Place, then; they'd been fucking here in this Shack when they were younger, with whips and chains and that collar that Charlie couldn't stop staring at.

He dropped the photos to the floor and tore his jeans open, his damp palm gripping his prick as a relieved moan fell from his lips. Sirius fucking Black in a _dog collar_. Those kinky bastards. Sure, Azkaban had done a number on him, but anyone could see that there had been a gorgeous man underneath it all, and when he was younger, Charlie was certain of it, Sirius Black would have been the most brilliant fuck in the history of the Wizarding world.

The werewolf and the dog star. Charlie began to pant openly, his thumb working over the tip of his cock while his fingers dragged up the shaft, pleasure spiralling through his body. Those kinky bloody _fucks_, he thought with a groan, picturing Remus with a whip in his hand, lording over Sirius as he knelt on the floor of this very room in that collar and nothing else, obeying Remus's every command. He imagined Sirius on his knees and elbows, cheek pressed into the mattress as Remus grabbed his hips and shoved inside him. He imagined Sirius kneeling before Remus, taking his cock into his mouth and letting Remus fuck his face and come down his throat, howling like the wolf when he did it.

No, okay, God. Fuck. Charlie paused, squeezing the base of his dick and swallowing hard. It still felt really bloody wrong to wank to this shit _here_. He shoved his cock back into his jeans and bent down to pick up the photos to put them in his pocket for later, when he was safely back home in bed, but as he did so, another thought occurred to him, and he glanced around the room.

One more location still glowed blue from his spell. Considering what the first two locations had brought him... He gulped, moving slowly over to the bedside table and opening the drawer. Following the glow, he prised the back panel off and reached inside, his entire body shuddering as his fingers swept over curled, stiff leather.

Oh, God. Oh, fuck.

He lifted the collar out of the drawer and stared at it. It was much bigger than it had looked in the photos, at least an inch high and thicker than he'd imagined, the buckles heavy against the cool leather. Oh, _fuck it_. His dick throbbed in his jeans, and he knew there would be no getting out of this bloody place until he just bloody _did it_ and moved on with things. An image ripped across his mind of Sirius kneeling before Remus as Remus smoothed his hair off his face and neck and fastened the collar. God, what if they'd actually fucked while Sirius was a dog? Just before the full moon hit, when Remus was at his strongest and most desperate, growling for release and begging for a good, hard fucking, what if Sirius morphed into Padfoot and trapped him down on the bed, driving that long dog cock into him and pounding him senseless until the bones started to break and the werewolf threw him off?

Charlie closed his eyes and reached around his neck, fastening the collar out of pure curiosity. He'd never worn anything like it before, but he wasn't terribly surprised to find that it felt fucking fabulous. His entire body stirred with both power and vulnerability, his air restricted just enough to trigger a bit of adrenaline through his chest and the thrill of being _owned_ by someone, being at the mercy of some gorgeous older man who would tell him what to do, coursing through his blood. He shuddered, closing his eyes as his face began to heat.

When he opened them, the transparent outline of two figures hovered over the bed, naked and rutting like animals. Charlie's mouth fell open.

He slumped against the wall to watch them, unable to look away, as the spectral forms tumbled and flowed into a variety of positions, all flowing out from the collar and none lasting more than a few seconds. There was Sirius on his back, fists clenched in the sheets and head thrown back, the collar glinting against his pale throat as Remus swallowed his dick down whole. Then the scene dissolved and reformed, with Remus sitting up against the headboard, hands pushing against Sirius's hips as Sirius lowered himself down onto Remus's prick, leaning back between Remus's legs to plant his palms behind him as he rode it. The image rippled away and then reappeared again, this time with Sirius kneeling at the top of the bed, fingers scraping raw against the wooden post as Remus surged behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist and fucking him viciously.

No, God, there was no way _not_ to do this, no way at all, and Charlie sank back into the wall and pulled his dick out again, barely able to contain himself any longer. He was already starting to pulse, his dick heavy in his hand and the skin stretched tight over his balls. He dropped his free hand down to press into his balls and back, his fingers scratching into the seam of his jeans as he tried to finger himself roughly, the white and colour already beginning to explode behind his eyes. He worked a finger inside just as the ghosts in front of him merged into a sixty-nine, curled around each other and completely oblivious to him, dual mouths sucking back thick cocks as hands worked over each other's skin.

Charlie's hand flew on his prick, pumping steadily as his breath came faster and his other hand moved up again to press into his balls the way he liked. Sirius was on his back again now, his chest heaving as Remus straddled him and grasped his own cock, and Charlie moaned as he realised what was going to happen. Remus fisted himself roughly, his lips parted and his hips pushed forward over Sirius's chest and stomach, and then he was coming in silver, spectral strands that hit Sirius's collar and dripped down his chest, and Charlie raised his left hand to the collar around his throat, and it was _wet, oh my God_, oh fuck, it was covered in come as well, seeping over Charlie's fingers as though Remus had just exploded over his face and neck, and it was too much, too brilliant, the very thought of it and the feel of it on his fingers snapping something in his body.

He let out a long, low groan and spilled over his hand, his cock jerking in his grip in uncontrolled spasms that ripped down his spine and made his thighs quake. There was too much; he couldn't stop, and a renewed pulse wracked him as Remus leaned in to lick the come from Sirius's neck, his tongue laving the collar and working down his chest, and Charlie squeezed his prick again, his hand soaked and slippery and his thighs damp and his entire body still shuddering.

When he opened his eyes again, the figures on the bed were gone.

With a sigh, he stumbled over to the bed for his wand, muttered a cleaning charm on himself and hauled his jeans back up over his hips. He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, let out a deep breath, and started in on fastening his zip.

"So, hey, when you're done in there, Mum wants you to pick up some fresh chicken from the– oh, for Christ's sake, Charlie."

He whirled around to see the goddamned jackal in the doorway, rolling its sodding eyes. He finished with his button and intuitively wiped his hand on the side of one thigh, even though he'd already done the cleaning charm.

"In here? Seriously? That is so– _God_, you are just, you are so unbelievable, you know that?"

"Okay, God, shut up," he muttered at it, a hand over his face.

"Do you think you can do one fucking thing for the Order without stopping to wank in the middle of it?"

"I said, shut _up_, jackal."

"Oh my God, stop calling me _jackal_. Jesus. You have got to start using a Patronus more often, seriously. And what the fuck is that around your neck?"

Charlie's hand flew up to the collar. "Just, don't fucking worry about it. Jesus, jackal, can't a man have a little privacy?" He unbuckled the collar – dry to the touch now, he noticed – and clenched it in his fist, glaring at Bill's Patronus.

"God and fuck," the jackal muttered, turning in the doorway and loping off. "Chicken!" it shouted over its shoulder. "And get the fuck out of there, you pervert."

"You owe me fifty Galleons, you know!" he yelled after it, but it was already gone. Charlie sighed, staring at the bed for a moment before shaking his head to clear out the lingering images. He was going mad in there, that was all, from the ghosts and the memories and the lingering smell of death still wafting up from downstairs. He gathered up the collar, the photographs, and after a moment's thought, the magazines as well, miniaturised them and stuck them in his pocket. No use letting them get burned to the ground along with the rest of this place. They might come in handy again later.

_Rest in peace, lads_, he thought with a grin as he paused in the doorway, his hand around the door knob, and for the first time since Remus had died, he felt a little bit better. At least now he knew that Remus hadn't been alone in there all the time, and maybe he was in a better place now, after all, with someone he'd always loved.

***

"Wow. Look at the dick on that kid."

"I told you it'd be good. He's a bloody dragon-tamer, Remus, and a Quidditch player, at that. It's part of the try-outs: show your dick."

"And if it's less than nine inches, you're off the squad?"

"Right, exactly."

"Padfoot. You are not going to try to tell me that James had a nine-inch dick."

"No. Ew. I don't know. Who cares? Are you _watching_ this? God."

"Yes, I'm watching. I can't believe I left those mags there. They were good ones, too."

Sirius smiled at him, letting the sheets bunch around his hips as he leaned over to lick a trail up Remus's chest. "You remember the first time I found you with master-servant porn?"

Remus laughed, arching into the touch. "You couldn't decide what you needed to do first: demand an explanation or come your brains out."

"Both worked nicely, I thought."

"Especially since you liked the explanation so much," murmured Remus, running translucent fingers through Sirius's hair and pushing him in a bit harder, until he took the hint and bit down on Remus's nipples. "Mmm, and you made such a nice servant, posing for photos like a good boy."

"I think he likes me. Did you see the way he wet his lips at that kneeling shot, in the collar?"

"That's one of my favourites. I always meant to go back and get those, you know."

"And hide them where, in your wife's knicker drawer?"

"Oh, ouch. That hurt, Padfoot."

Sirius shifted over top of him to straddle his hips, slowly pushing their pricks together. "Yeah, yeah," he murmured. "But I've got you back now, haven't I?"

Remus nodded, gripping his hips and moving him in slow circles. "You do." He glanced back down through the roof of the Shack. "Hey."

"Mm?" Sirius's eyes were closed, and his hair fell in heavy sheets around his face. Someone in the afterlife seemed to have been able to pinpoint the exact time in their lives when they'd been happiest and truest in spirit, and that was the moment they got to recreate for eternity. For them, it was age nineteen, naked in bed and without a care in the world.

"You want to give him a show?" said Remus, his mouth twisting into a grin, and Sirius glanced down to see Charlie running his fingers over the collar.

"Hey, that's mine!" He reached up to touch the replica fastened around his own throat. "Oh. Right." He coughed. "He can have that one, I guess." He grinned at Remus, running his palms down Remus's chest and biting his lip as Remus groaned, arching up into the touch. "What do you have in mind, _Master_?" he murmured.

"Wait till he puts it on." Remus let his hand drift down to grip their pricks together.

"Nnng," breathed Sirius. "Yeah, then what?"

"Then," said Remus, his other hand reaching up to hook into the collar around Sirius's throat, a mischievous grin on his face, "we run through our greatest hits."

"You think he can last that long?" Sirius pushed forward into Remus's hand, his dick pulsing. "We've got quite a roster."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Do your best, you poor, exhausted thing, you." He glanced down again. "Here he goes. Ready?"

Sirius nodded, shifting his hips. "I hope he gets that bloody money from Bill. That kid always did know more than he let on."

 

-fin-


End file.
